


The Each-uisge

by keir



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keir/pseuds/keir
Summary: There once was a boy who fell in love with a beast. No ordinary beast was this, but a terrible Each-uisge, whose domain was deep within the waters of Loch a’ Mhuilinn.





	The Each-uisge

**Author's Note:**

> This was taken and edited from an original piece to fit fandom, so it may be a bit awkward, but hopefully still enjoyable. It's a bit different from my usual in fanfic, so let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, you can find me as keirdark on tumblr.

There once was a boy who fell in love with a beast. No ordinary beast was this, but a terrible Each-uisge, whose domain was deep within the waters of Loch a’ Mhuilinn. It was a creature which had taken hundreds of lives, those of farmers and travelers, warriors and kings alike; a creature whose thirst could never be sated though its home be water.   
  
But the boy does not know this when he first sees the beast. He is but a young thing yet, barely able to crawl. His mother is washing clothes in the loch while he plays, waving small, chubby arms as the dragonflies dance about him in the tall grass.   
  
It is then that he appears, the Each-uisge. He is tall, his four slender legs impossibly long, and his coat, like polished dark wood, shines with luster in the sun. He is finely muscled and is sure to be the swiftest horse ever known to man. His ears come to elegant points, and his muzzle has a delicate curve about it. His hair is long and tangled with water weeds, dripping wet though the rest of him is dry, and his eyes are the blue of the clearest sky.   
  
He advances toward the babe carefully, picking up polished, shining hooves, dripping water upon the grass. The babe stares back, as calm as you please though he stares death in the eye, and watches the waterhorse's approach. The creature lowers its head on its long, curved neck and takes in the scent of the child. When he blows out of wide nostrils, his breath holds the scent of rich mud and rotting plants. The child laughs, delighted as the exhalation ruffles his thick black locks. The sound startles the Each-uisge, but he is even more startled by the gentle touch of the babe's hand upon his snout.   
  
The creature hungers then as he blows breath as cool as the waters of the loch across the tiny hand, hungers to open his mouth and consume the babe, sweet laughter and all. He nearly does, maw opening wide and velvety soft lip touching the child's forehead when the mother screams, having finally noticed him. She rushes him, arms waving as she heeds not her own safety. The Each-uisge rears up, sharp hooves striking the air in warning before he turns on powerful hindquarters and dives back into the loch. He leaves behind not even a ripple upon the water to bear witness to his presence. The only evidence left behind is the new white lock of hair at the top of the babe's forehead.   
  
\---   
  
When the boy is five, he meets the beast again. He is frolicking with the other children down by the loch; they pick tall reeds and lash them about, pretending they are fighting with swords, laughing gaily under the spring sun as their feet trample sweet grasses.   
  
The boy is the first to notice him. He can feel him watching and turns to stare; pale blue eyes stare back. They watch each other for a time, a distant memory niggling at the back of the boy's mind as he pushes the white lock of hair back from his forehead. The waterhorse arches his proud neck, water streaming from his weed-bedecked mane as he whinnies, calling to the boy. Come, come, come play with me, the Each-uisge trumpets in a voice only the boy can hear.   
  
But it is not him who answers the call. Two other boys run to the horse, enraptured by his shining coat and well-made features, neither understanding what danger they're in. He should call out to them, but the boy remains silent. The boys exclaim over the Each-uisge’s beauty, and the waterhorse turns his attention to them. He graciously folds his legs to lay upon the grass and let the boys clamber upon his smooth back. They laugh, small legs kicking at his sides as he rises.   
  
The shouts only begin when their hands sink beneath the dark brown coat, ensnaring them. The Each-uisge gives the boy one more look, pale eyes staring, almost scolding him. They tell him, See what you make me do when it should be you?, before turning on his haunches and dashing for the water. The shouts turn to screams and then there is silence as the waterhorse takes them under to his lair.   
  
\---   
  
Seasons come and go as they will do, time turning on its inevitable axis. The boy grows into a young man, the Each-uisge his constant admirer. The young man feels the eyes on him, always knows when he is being watched, for he and the creature share a bond. He will fill his buckets or wash his clothing in the cool waters of the loch, ever aware of the flat face peeking just above the water, pale blue eyes staring avidly, hungrily.   
  
The young man has watched more than just the two boys from his childhood go to their deaths. There were more villagers, and a fair few travelers; the only sign that the Each-Uisge had taken them was their abandoned belongings in the grass. The boy always knew when the creature had fed, for his coat was glossier than ever afterward. The Each-uisge would come to him and preen, lifting delicate hooves high and prancing in a circle as if to say, See, see how beautiful I am? And indeed he was beautiful, the most beautiful horse as any man could plainly tell, his long mane and tail glistening with water droplets. He would look over his shoulder, coquettishly inviting the boy to ride upon his back, but each time he was refused. He would toss his head high at that, baring his fangs as he was spurned, and recede back into the water once more.   
  
It is when the young man has seen his fourteenth spring that he happens across another sunbathing by the loch. The other lad lays naked upon a rock, his whole self on display, and the young man can't help but notice the artful long limbs and smooth brown skin. He has had an inkling that he doesn't carry a fancy for girls the way the other boys do, and the longing he feels at the sight of the other lad only furthers the notion.   
  
The stranger sits up, taking notice of him, and the young man can barely breathe for the sight of an angular face and eyes a pale, pale blue.   
  
This is no stranger. It is his first time seeing the Each-uisge in another form, and it is as beautiful as his first. The creature smiles at him invitingly. His dark brown hair is limp with water, and the young man can see weeds twined amongst his locks and a smudge of mud upon his cheek. As he watches, the Each-uisge arches wantonly, offering himself up if only the young man has the courage to take him.   
  
But he resists, though his desire is great. The Each-uisge glares at him as he gains his feet and dives from the rock into the waters of the loch, leaving not even a ripple behind.   
  
\---   
  
The Each-uisge grows bolder with each passing year. Content no longer to court the young man from afar, it brings itself closer and closer at each encounter in a dangerous dance. From secret stares beneath the water's surface to standing at the shoreline, to following the young man with only a few feet between them, he grows bolder. By the time the young man has entered his sixteenth year, each time he goes down to the loch the Each-uisge comes to him, stands next to him with barely an inch between them.   
  
Now the young man is not unfamiliar with the tickle of horse whiskers against his neck, nor with the touch of slender fingers against his back. The smell of mud and fresh water and plants rotting in the shallows washes over him with every breath from the creature, as cool as a fall breeze. When he grows bold enough, he reaches up to touch the sopping wet hair which trails over his shoulder, breath shaky as his hand fills with the dark brown strands, water trickling down his skin. The Each-uisge bumps its chest against his back, arches its elegant neck and looks at him with one eye, sharing his excitement. Still, he denies temptation and lets the damp locks go.    
The Each-Uisge remains ever undeterred, never stopping his flirtations. He displays his naked body as bold as you please when he takes the form of a human, his cock often erect. The young man wishes for nothing more than to feel it. He dreams of that beautiful, slender body beneath him at night, and knows not whether it was truly a dream when he wakes, for the Each-Uisge owns part of his soul. It is clear to him that they are bound together, though whether for good or bad he cannot say.   
  
\---   
  
In the spring of his seventeenth year, he is finally seen as a man. All traces of his childhood have vanished, and his body is strong from days spent working at the mill. He spends his sun-filled hours at work, but at dawn or dusk he comes to the loch, his second home. The Each-uisge waits for him, ever patient. They walk about the shore, or the man will sit and dip his feet in the loch if it's a warm enough. The Each-uisge begs him to stay with his pale eyes, positioning his body sideways to offer his back for the man to mount, but he is always refused. Instead, the man crafts small things out of the water rushes or presents the creature with something that caught his fancy and leaves them as gifts.   
  
It is another year before the man is told he must stop spending his days tarrying and marry a good girl to make a family. He balks at the thought, but it is the way of his people, and so he must. The Each-uisge offers his back to the man when he tells him what is to happen, blue eyes beseeching, but the man denies him, turning away. The Each-uisge flies into a rage, his screams like the clap of thunder echoing off the loch. He charges past the man, nearly barreling him over as he plunges into the loch, the water rippling violently in his wake. 

The man goes to the loch the day after, but for the first time his admirer is nowhere to be found. Day after day he comes, but the waters remain silent and still. The man continues to make small figurines from the water reeds, leaving them and other objects of fancy as gifts. When he returns they are always gone, but he sees no sign of the Each-uisge. 

The years pass as they are wont to do, and the man ages. He marries, sires children, and the children grow. All is peaceful, including the loch. The man returns less and less as the responsibilities of his life grow, but he carries the Each-uisge in his heart.

\---

It is his thirty-sixth summer when the raid happens. There is nothing he can do to stop it. He fights bravely, but his people die around him and his steid burns to cinder and ash. His family dies around him as he lays upon the ground, closing to his eyes, expecting to die as well.

But he does not succumb to his wounds. He wakes in the orange and hazy twilight beneath a blanket of soot, rises from it, screams like the Each-uisge did so many years ago with the pain.

There is nothing left, and now he goes to him.

His right arm is a mangled mess, limp and useless at his side. He shambles to the loch, what once he called his second home, caked in blood and ash, sweat and tears.

The Each-uisge waits there for him, as eternal as the patience he has had waiting. He stands at the water's edge, delicate ears pricked forward toward the man. His hide ripples like the water in anticipation. He lets the man come to him, for it must be done of free will; he will accept nothing less.

Finally the man reaches him. The Each-uisge rests his long face against the man's chest and they find comfort in each other's presence there amongst the reeds. The waterhorse folds his long legs beneath him and looks at the man.

He is ready now. He clambers upon the Each-uisge’s back and is not jostled as the water horse rises. He buries his hand in the thick, sopping mane, feels the shiver of anticipation of the beast beneath him. It has no need to ensnare him, for he goes willingly now.   


Slowly, slowly, the Each-uisge walks into the loch. The waters rise to the man's feet and then hips and then shoulders. The filth of the world of men is cleansed away as the water horse takes him into his. Then the water is over his head and he can no longer breathe.   
  
He struggles and thrashes, as a man will do when he is dying, his hand firmly entangled in the mane. The Each-uisge dives down, down, taking the man to his lair where so many others have died before him. And there, at the bottom of the loch, the man sees how the beast lives, surrounded by every gift the man has ever given him.

He is close now, no longer struggling. The Each-uisge is suddenly a beautiful young man, the man's hand tangled in his locks. Limbs wrap around him in a lover’s embrace, a sweet kiss placed upon his lips. He returns it, never letting go. He is home now.

The Each-uisge finally devours his love.


End file.
